by Darcy Burke
Kyle and the other four people manning the booth doled out beer to everyone, including the photographer and the other festival attendees who had started to arrive in droves now that they were home from work. The photographer snapped photos of the activity and asked the Archers to pose for a picture.
Derek lingered in the background—never quite sure if he ought to be included. Most people only cared about the kids who’d been on the TV show, and that didn’t include him, though as Kyle’s best friend, he’d appeared on it several times.
“Derek, get up here,” Dad barked jovially. “And bring Chloe. You know this is my adoptive son, Derek Sumner,” he said to the photographer, “and this is his fiancée, Chloe English.”
They exchanged pleasantries with the photographer, who asked, “When’s the big day?”
“In just a couple of weeks,” Chloe answered. “Up at the monastery we’re renovating.”
After a few formal shots in which they held up their cups of beer, they broke up again. Kyle noticed that Dylan had stood off to the side for the pictures. “Don’t want to be associated with us?” he asked, kidding.
“You know me, families give me hives.” Dylan was the product of parents who’d divorced when he was very young, ensuring that he’d grown up with a foot in two households. He’d talked a little bit to Kyle about feeling more comfortable on his own, but since falling for Sara, he was becoming indoctrinated into the big, crazy Archer family, whether he liked it or not. And Kyle understood Dylan’s reticence better than anyone. Sometimes the family situation was simply more than he could bear.
Natalie came rushing up to the booth. “Sorry I’m late!”
“Nah, you’re fine,” said Royce, the booth worker she was taking over for. He wiped his hands on a towel and gave a salute. “See you around, Archers, it’s been real.”
Kyle clapped him on the back. “Thanks, Royce.”
“Yeah, thanks man,” Derek chimed in. He was Royce’s boss.
Natalie moved behind the counter. “So what do we do?”
“Just pour the beer and sell the merchandise, if someone wants a T-shirt or pint glass or whatever. We have a Square to take credit or debit cards.” He indicated the iPad one of the other workers was using to charge someone’s order. “And the cash box is down there.” He gestured under the counter.
“Got it.”
“In fact, I should count out what we made this afternoon so there isn’t too much in the till.” He grabbed the box and took it to the back of the booth, where there was a small work area. He counted out the starting cash and handed the box to Natalie. “Go ahead and put that back on the shelf.”
The counting didn’t take long, which was puzzling. They should’ve made more than that. He recounted, going more slowly. He got the same amount. After the third time, he decided there must’ve been more credit card use than he’d realized. He documented the bills on a deposit slip and stuffed all of it into a zippered bank bag, which he then locked. He tucked the bag beneath the back work area and figured he ought to give the key to Derek, who was taking over at the booth for the rest of the evening.
Natalie glanced at the work schedule on the back counter and made a duck face. “Well, that sucks.”
Kyle went and stood next to her. “What?”
“I thought you were working tonight. That’s why I signed up for this shift.”
“I was, but Derek asked to switch because Chloe had a meeting this afternoon.” Chloe was the art director for Archer Enterprises. She designed all of the decoration for the Archer spaces, which included murals and other custom paintings. The art, along with the beer, was a signature aspect of an Archer brewpub. She was also a sometimes waitress at The Arch and Vine, filling in when needed, as they all did. Kyle hadn’t yet been asked to supply his cooking skills, but he’d made it known that he was available and interested.
Natalie turned and looked up at him. “That’s a total bummer.” She smoothed her dark hair back behind her ears and caught the mass, bringing it forward over one shoulder. “I was really looking forward to working with you. Now it’ll be boring.”
He laughed. “No, it won’t. Dave’s here. Dave’s hilarious.” He was a bartender at one of their pubs outside Ribbon Ridge.
She touched his arm briefly, lightly, but it was enough to convey her flirtatious intent. “Dave’s not you.” Her voice held a little pout.
Kyle glanced down at where she’d brushed her fingers against him.
“Sorry!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I might’ve had a large glass of pinot over at the A.F. Nichols booth.”
He suppressed a laugh, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. “Was it good?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly with pleasure. “Delicious. You should go get a glass.”
“Maybe I will.” He smiled down at her. “Thanks.”
He headed out of the booth, and Sara stepped into his path. “When I said you should look for someone, I didn’t mean right now.” Her gaze drifted to Natalie, who was pouring a beer for a customer.
“What? Natalie?” Kyle shook his head. “That’s just work stuff.”
Sara kept her voice low. “Didn’t look like work stuff to me. Looked like flirty, cutesy stuff. She was devouring you like a menopausal woman at a chocolate buffet.”
He laughed, couldn’t help it. “She wasn’t either.” Sara’s gaze turned sharp, and he relented. “Okay, she was flirting a little.”
“So were you.”
Was he? He hadn’t meant to. He liked Natalie, but they were coworkers—hell, he was technically her boss—and that was it. “Unintentional.”
“Are you sure? She’s your type.”
“I have a type? Sara, I barely see someone more than a few months. How can I have a type?”
“Dark hair, dark eyes.” Like Maggie. “Natalie’s a perfect match.” Kyle glanced back at the booth. Natalie laughed at something one of the customers said. Yeah, she was a knockout, but no, not perfect . . .
He looked down at his sister. “Absolutely unintentional, really. I’m not interested in her.”
Sara poked him lightly in the chest. “Make sure she knows that.”
He winked at her, then turned to find Derek. He was over to the side of the booth, talking to Dad. Taking a deep, cleansing Maggie-breath, he strode toward them. Smile, Kyle.
“Hey, Derek, here’s the key to the cash bag. I counted out the day’s receipts, but I haven’t matched them up against the totals.” He dropped the key into Derek’s upturned palm.
Derek closed his hand and pocketed the key. “Thanks.”
Awkward silence ensued for a good thirty seconds before Kyle said, “See you later.”
Tori gestured for him to come over to where she and Dylan were talking. “Kyle, I wanted to tell you that the permits are in the approval process. We’ll be ready to move ahead with the restaurant and brewpub as soon as the wedding space is done.”
“Great.” Kyle couldn’t wait to get started. He jabbed his thumb toward Dylan. “We should give this guy and his crew a few days off at least.”
She looked over at Dylan. “Yeah, we should.”
Dylan shook his head. “Not necessary.”
Tori frowned at him. “Hey, just because you’re a workaholic doesn’t mean your employees should be.”
“It’s cool. My guys are taking time as they need it.”
“Are you?” Tori asked. “If you don’t take at least one day off, my sister’s going to have a fit.”
Sara was over chatting with Chloe. As if she knew she was being mentioned, she waved at them. Dylan’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, okay. I’ll take a couple.”
Kyle slapped him on the back. “Smart man.”
They talked for a while longer about the project before Kyle asked if they wanted to join him over at the A.F. Nichols booth for a glass of pinot. Before they could be on their way, Derek came toward them. Kyle was surprised when he didn’t immediately tense. Maybe Maggie’s breathing exercises real
ly were helping.
“Kyle, can I talk to you?” Derek’s tone was stern, provoking Kyle’s muscles to bunch up.
“Sure.”
They moved away from Tori and Dylan.
Derek glanced away. He seemed uncomfortable. Great. “I just checked the receipts, and they don’t match up with the cash bag. Are you sure you counted correctly?”
Ice pricked Kyle’s spine. “Yeah, I counted it three times. I suppose I could’ve miscounted what I left in the box.”
Derek shook his head, his dark blue eyes growing even darker. “No, I counted that, too. And I had Scott double-check it. There’s money missing.”
“There can’t be. I was at the booth all afternoon.” Except for when he’d gone to get lunch. “It has to be there somewhere.”
Kyle stalked toward the booth. Derek was right behind him, and together they searched the small space.
“What’re you guys looking for?” Natalie asked.
“There’s some money missing—almost a hundred bucks,” Derek muttered.
She glanced between them. “Can I help?”
Derek stopped and looked at Kyle. “It’s not here.”
They’d exhausted every nook and cranny. “I don’t know what happened.”
Derek inclined his head for Kyle to follow him out of the booth. When they were out of earshot of the others, he lowered his voice. “Did you take it?”
Kyle glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“You’re a real dick, you know that? Of course I didn’t take it.”
“You wouldn’t lie, would you?”
Kyle couldn’t tell if Derek wanted to believe him or not. And he didn’t care. His head was swimming. It was one thing to feel betrayed by your best friend and another to realize he’d lost all faith in you. “No, and I’ll tell you this,” he said, leaning forward and sneering at the man who’d once been closer to him than any of his blood brothers, “if I’d wanted to take some money to gamble, a lousy hundred bucks wouldn’t cut it.”
Derek’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
Dad came up to them. Kyle cringed. He was just what this situation needed. “What’s going on?”
“The till’s missing close to a hundred dollars,” Derek said, never taking his gaze from Kyle’s.
Kyle’s blood pounded through his veins as his heart rate sped up. “Derek thinks I took it.”
Dad blinked at him. “Did you?” At least he looked disbelieving.
“No, Dad. I didn’t. But thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I gotta go.” He started to turn, but Derek grabbed his bicep.
“You can’t just leave.”
“Why not? What’re you going to do? Call the cops? Notify everyone that I’m a thief and a gambler and an utter wastrel?” He laughed bitterly. “Go ahead, but I’m not sticking around for it.” He wished he had a hundred dollars on him to throw in their faces, but that would only make him look guilty. In fact . . . He pulled out his front pockets, showing them to be empty and took his wallet from his back pocket. Opening the slot where he kept his bills, he showed them the interior. “Here.” He counted it out. “Thirty-three bucks. All yours.” He shoved it at Derek. “Dock my pay for the rest.” He threw Dad a glare. “Or are you going to fire me on the spot for larceny?”
Derek hadn’t caught all the money. He bent to retrieve it.
“Derek, maybe you owe Kyle an apology,” Dad said.
Derek shot up, his blue eyes blazing. That had been the wrong thing to say. Kyle had been waiting for an apology from him for almost four years, and according to Derek, he’d wait until hell froze over.
Kyle stood his ground and held his breath.
“I’ll apologize when we find the money,” Derek said. Then he turned and stalked off.
Fury twisted through Kyle, making him want to do . . . something.
“I know you’re mad,” Dad said. “I’ll talk to him. You really have no idea what happened to the money?” There was a sadness to the question that indicated Dad wasn’t completely sure he believed what Kyle had said. And that sent him over the edge.
“Don’t bother.” He spun around and took off for his car, which was across the street from the park where the festival was being held.
Sara caught up to him before he got to the edge of the park. “Kyle, wait up. I thought we were getting a glass of wine. What’s wrong?”
He slowed but didn’t stop. “Nothing.”
She touched his back. “Can I do something?”
He looked at her over his shoulder and was surprised to find that the only person he wanted to talk to right now was Maggie. That the only person who could really help him was her.
“Thanks, Sara-cat, but I need to get out of here.”
She dropped her hand. “Okay. Call me if you need anything?”
He nodded, then crossed the street to his car. He waited until he was a few blocks away before he called Maggie. Her phone went directly to voicemail.
Shit.
He circled the block and tried her again. Still voicemail.
Frustration curdled through him. He needed to talk to her, damn it. He drove to the edge of town, saw the signs for the highway, and realized he could be at the Indian casino in less than twenty minutes.
Hell, if everyone was so dead set on believing the worst of him, who was he to disappoint?
Chapter Eight
MAGGIE SPENT THE first part of her appointment with Amy talking about her patient, Ryan. More specifically, they’d focused on Maggie’s discomfort stemming from his suicidal thoughts.
Amy scribbled on her notepad. “I sense your anxiety isn’t entirely due to this patient—though I recognize this is a considerable stressor for you.”
Maybe an understatement. Maggie had actually worried that she was going to have a full-on panic attack that morning when Baylor had asked if she could take a new patient who was recovering from a suicide attempt.
She shook the recollection away and—reluctantly—addressed Amy’s unspoken question. “There’s more,” she said slowly. “I decided to help Kyle Archer track down who sold Alex the drugs he used.”
Amy’s brows pitched up as she made a note. “How’s that going?”
“Fine.”
Amy gave her a direct look and smiled softly. “Do you really think I’m going to accept that kind of answer?”
As a therapist Maggie knew better. She exhaled and uncrossed her legs, planting her feet flat on the floor in front of the couch. “No. We’ve been spending a little bit of time together. I guess I’ve been sort of counseling him.”
“Really?” Amy’s surprise was evident in her tone, and her pen scratched furiously over the paper. “You were reticent at our meeting last week.”
Maggie shrugged, feeling defensive, though she knew she shouldn’t. “I wanted to help him.” Plus, he’s funny, caring, and completely gorgeous. And a magnificent kisser. “We had a lead, but it didn’t pan out.”
“I see. Are your interactions entirely about the drug issue, or is there more to it?”
Sometimes Amy was too clever for her own good. “There’s a little more to it, I guess.”
“How do you feel about that?” A therapist’s favorite question.
Maggie couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Fine.” She laughed as she realized she’d done it again. “It makes me feel good but a little anxious. There’s no future there.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s Kyle Archer. I can’t become romantically involved with my dead client’s brother.” She sat back against the couch and crossed her legs again. “And I’m a mess.”
“You’re not as messy as you think, and I don’t see how Alex is a permanent barrier to a relationship with Kyle. Yes, there are things you’ll need to work through, but if he’s also interested . . .”
Was he? In kissing, for sure, but more than that? She really didn’t know, and she didn’t want to. The �
�things” they’d need to work through were insurmountable in her eyes. It was one thing to work through her guilt and find a place of peace, but if she were with Kyle, his brother would always be there in the background. A grim reminder of how badly she’d failed him.
“I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I don’t think I have it in me to work through this. Which is fine. I like Kyle, and I’m glad I’m helping him, but when we get to the bottom of that, we’ll go our separate ways.”
“I see. That sounds like a good plan. For now.” Amy sounded skeptical, like she suspected Maggie would change her mind. “What else is going on?”
Maggie thought about her house and her mother’s reaction and the fact that she was hiding the situation from pretty much everyone. But bringing it up now felt like an admission that there was a problem, and if she did that, she’d have to accept that she was in worse shape than she realized. If that were true, she’d have to reassess so many things, first and foremost her job. “My mom came by last night. Kyle was there.”
Amy chuckled. “I can imagine how that went.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Horrific. However, she did bring me a plant I’d always wanted.”
Amy’s eyes softened with understanding. “That must’ve been a nice moment for you. Tell me, did she embarrass you with Kyle? Did you feel anxious afterward?”
“It wasn’t totally humiliating, but she assumed—verbally—that Kyle and I were together, which Kyle found amusing. I was less anxious than I would’ve been if I hadn’t already taken a Xanax after my appointment with Ryan. I admit I did have a glass of wine after she left.”
Amy scrunched her lips together in disapproval. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say you mixed alcohol with antidepressants.”
“I drank it hours after the Xanax, and it was a small glass.” She felt like she’d been caught sneaking her mom’s vodka in high school. If her mom had been the type to care about that sort of thing. “Smallish. Not huge.”
